Ode to Divorce
by Joanne Lupin
Summary: Inspired by the song of the same name by Regina Spektor. Possible triggers for extreme heartbreak and binge drinking. Blaine still can't accept that Kurt fell out of love with him. It takes a chance encounter for him to realize just how grave his situation is.


**I strongly advise you to listen to "Ode to Divorce" by Regina Spektor before reading this fic. Possible triggers for extreme heartbreak and binge drinking.**

Blaine stared at the band of pale skin at the base of his finger. It felt lighter, nowadays. No, not lighter. More like… empty. Everything felt empty since that day. Like the colors had been sucked away; like the music had been taken out of songs; like the taste had been taken out of food. He poked at the nibbled-on egg roll on his plate. He knew he wouldn't be eating any more of it, but he had nowhere else to be, so he rested his head on his left hand to cover up the pale spot and stared into space. He looked up as the jingling of a bell signaled the arrival of new patrons.

His heart dropped into his toes.

Kurt smiled at another man, for whom he'd opened the door. The men ordered their food and sat at a booth- _their _booth.

But nothing was actually _theirs _any more. Kurt had made that terribly clear.

Neither man had seemed to notice Blaine. Kurt was smiling at the other man, who had longish blond hair and big glasses that probably didn't serve any purpose other than to accessorize. Blaine knew that smile. That was the smile Kurt used all the time when they first met, and when they'd started dating.

Blaine felt sick. Well, sicker than he usually did as of late.

Kurt delicately raised a napkin over his lips. He was spitting something out- gum, probably. Oh _god_. He was chewing gum. He _had been _chewing gum. And now he wasn't. Which meant that he was planning on using his mouth for something else; _planning to have something else inside his mouth. _Blaine wanted to throw up. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. Oh, god, this was bad. This was a bad thing. Oh, god. No. This wasn't- couldn't be happening. No. It wasn't

Kurt leaned over the table at the same time as Mr. Fake-Glasses did.

And their lips touched.

Blaine shattered. He thought he'd shattered the night he'd come home to find Kurt packing, shaking, saying that he couldn't handle being with the same person since high school, that he was done. But that was nothing compared to what was happening to him now. All along, he'd had a hope, however tiny, that Kurt would come back, would say he'd made a mistake. Now, with Kurt's lips working over Mr. Fake-Glasses', the reality of Blaine's situation hit him. Kurt had moved on. He met someone new. He really didn't love Blaine any more. And where was Blaine now? Stuck in an apartment he couldn't afford with no car, no job, and no way to get back on his feet.

Blaine struggled to keep tears at bay as he sprinted out of the restaurant. He thought he might have seen Kurt's striking blue eyes follow him, but he didn't want to look back. He ran all the way back to his apartment, not caring that it was about fifty blocks- he relished the pain in his limbs and his side, as long as they assured him that they were still there. He stumbled into his apartment, tears stinging his eyes and sobbing in deep, shuddering breaths that didn't seem to give him enough air. It felt, in fact, like the air was being pounded from his chest, only a million times worse than when that had actually, physically happened to him. He rummaged blindly through the small kitchen, searching for something- _anything_- to take the edge off, eventually finding a bottle of Vodka. Usually, he hated the stuff, but now was not the time to be picky. He pulled off the top and smiled around the burn of the alcohol, which cruelly mimicked the burn in his heart- or, at least, where it used to be. He slumped onto the cold tile floor and pressed a number into the phone.

"Blaine?"

All Blaine could do was sob into the phone.

"Woah, Squirt, what's wrong?"

Blaine struggled to collect himself enough to tell his brother what had happened at the restaurant. Finally, he whimpered, "He found someone else, Coop. He was with someone else."

"Oh, Blaine," Cooper murmured. "Will you be okay? I can come over if you want. I can be there in a few minutes."

"N-no, Coop, it's okay," Blaine assured him. What he wanted more than anything was to disappear. He felt like he _wasn't _anymore. Like he was fading away. Like the only parts of him that still existed were the parts that were engulfed in pain, and even those were ebbing away as he gulped from the bottle of Vodka.

"If you're sure…" his brother replied. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will."

"Okay. Bye, Blaine."

"Bye, Coop."

Blaine hung up and tossed the phone across the room. He finished the Vodka in a series of hard, rapid gulps, then searched for any other alcohol in the kitchen. He discovered some wine above the fridge, and some beer in a case by the door to the little half-bath. Eventually, his vision was spinning in front of him, and he couldn't stand. The last thing he could remember before everything went black was the image of Kurt's face, smiling the way he used to smile at Blaine when they were together.


End file.
